A Time of Monsters
by Ivanolix
Summary: He scrubs at his wet eyes with a tiny fist. "If another one comes to get me, you'll kill it too?" (Roland, Regina, Robin, pre-Outlaw Queen)


It is said that the evil are cursed to sleeplessness, that they wander the night unable to find rest, incapable of trusting night's embrace. There's a queen who would protest such a saying, more troubled by nightmares than her own conscience. It's been a long time, though, since either kept her awake.

Moonlight floods the castle and glints off guards' spears and armor. The queen herself is clad in soft velvet, silent and invisible in the night. Evil she might be, but she does not look it. She walks through the castle and stares up at moon and stars with a torment that both good and evil can know. Despair and loss cut through every human heart.

For the first time in more than a lifetime, the castle is full to the brim. At night, though, it seems the same as ever. Empty. Silent. Cold. Tonight, the queen's people lie safe in each others' arms, for she has stopped threatening their loved ones. Every room is full of friends, family and lovers—save for hers. Hers is a testament to the scattered pieces of her heart, each one ripped away through all space and time until she's left with nothing to call her own but the wind through the curtains and an icy mattress.

A dozen guards stand watch on this floor alone, alert for a few hours before they too can fall to blissful sleep. The queen's watch, though it is not borne of duty, will not end so soon. She walks the corridors with a hole in the heart she is forced to carry in her chest.

Tiny footsteps pad quickly down the hallway she walks, and the silence is broken. A child runs towards the throne-room, breathing hard, and crashes headlong into her legs.

"Slow down there," the queen murmurs. On a monarch less evil, her expression would be considered soft, her tone concerned. On such a queen as this, most would distrust the motherly tone.

Most, but not all. The small boy looks up with eyes that shine in the moonlight, eyes that have seen her before and yet look to her with trust. "I found you," he whispers, whimpers. "Papa's gone and there's a monster in my room."

Instantly tense, the queen takes not even a second to think. She scoops the boy in her arm while her other hand prepares a fire, forgetting that there are guards for situations like this. Mothers take the safety of children on their own shoulders, it has oft been said, reckless though it usually is. Though this queen is not a mother to _this_ boy.

He clings to her shoulder as she sweeps to the chamber provided for him and his father. It's empty and dark, the fire gone out, but the queen has fire of her own. Her gaze pierces the darkness, prepared for any and every monster. The boy tries to silence his breathing as if it will help him disappear into safety.

Yet all is well. The queen shines her fire in every corner of the room, and not a monster can be found. "Roland, you're safe," she says. "Nothing is in here."

The boy looks up, unconvinced, and points to a shadow on the floor. When the queen rolls the shadow-shrouded object over with her foot, it stares up with empty plastic eyes. She smiles a little, the tension leaving her limbs. There's sadness and nostalgia in her voice as she assures, "It's just a toy now. It's a friend, not a monster. Not anymore."

"But I had a dream and it wasn't," the boy cries quietly, his small mouth quivering. "It came back and Papa couldn't shoot it, and now he's not here." In the night, such terrors are hard to shake. The boy whispers with urgency, "You need to do it."

It has been almost a lifetime since the queen held a small boy in her arms and soothed his fears. No one ever saw it, then, and when the curse broke no one believed it could have happened. No one is here now, either, save for the boy. He cannot see or understand the heartache in her eyes, but the rest is simple enough for him to grasp. The queen may not be his mother, but she looks like _someone's_.

Carefully cradling him in her arms, she sits on the edge of his bed. With a flick of her fingers, the toy monkey vaporizes into thin air. "There. Just in case."

The fear fades from his face, and he scrubs at his wet eyes with a tiny fist. "If another one comes to get me, you'll kill it too?"

After looking around the room, a hint of irritation and disgust crossing her face upon seeing that the boy's father, indeed, has left—and with his bow and arrows—the queen finally returns her gaze to the boy. He's not her son; he is another's. His fears, his heartbreak, his safety, are all the responsibility of another heart. Even if that heart is not here, at this moment. Yet her voice is steady and confident, for the boy cannot be allowed to share her doubt in his father. "When your father returns, I'm sure he will do everything in his power to keep you safe, Roland."

"But you have _magic_," the boy protests.

She smiles, a little, wry and tight. It is not a trait anyone has considered a blessing until now. Even the boy's father, very likely, would not think so. She takes the boy's hands in her own and looks him in the eye. "Your father has magic as well. The greatest magic there is. Love."

He doesn't trust that yet.

"There is no power stronger than a father or mother who loves their child," the queen says, with a voice that is almost an echo from her past, from a time when she was barely more than a child herself. "It is pure magic, Roland. And with it, your father can keep you safe, even if I'm not there."

He looks her in the eyes, searching for any lie. When he cannot find one, he lets out a breath and looks over to his mussed pillows and blankets. "Will you stay until he gets back? I need to sleep again."

"Of course," she promises, because who would do anything else.

He's a very young boy and it is very late at night. It takes merely seconds for him to curl up on the pillow and drift away to less terrifying dreams. The queen covers him with a blanket, though her soothing smile fades away to one that hurts.

One day, perhaps very soon, this boy will know that there is more to her than the sorceress who destroys monsters for him. In this world, everyone knows that but him. Someone will tell him. People still whisper about the evil in her, and she has not let them see anything softer. It is not for their eyes. Yet it hurts, just as it hurts that she lost a boy who saw both and still believed in her. She never intended for it to hurt, and considers it half a betrayal, even if it is her own self she betrayed.

The hurt flares to anger when this boy's father returns. It was not a lengthy departure, but it was long enough. She looks like the queen again when she stands up tall and whispers, "Is it customary for outlaws to abandon their children while they sleep?"

Startled, the man takes a moment to piece together the scene. As any parent would, he has to pause and remember that she's not evil to children, that his son is surely safe. "I had a duty to make sure the guards' shifts switched smoothly. What...are you doing here?"

"Roland had a night terror. It's common, when one has seen what he has seen." This is the voice that people expect to come from the queen, chill and sharp.

Yet the boy is asleep, calm, still. As any good father would, this one lets out a slow breath. "Thank you for…"

"I came when he called," the queen fills in for him, her eyebrows still narrowed. "You would be wise to have a trusted person in this room at all times, if you must depart in the middle of the night."

The man looks weary, and perhaps that is the reason he accepts advice from an evil queen. "Yes, of course. Before, we always slept among my Merry Men. We were never alone. I will make sure this does not happen again. My apologies, your majesty, for the inconvenience."

The queen rolls her eyes. "I didn't offer the advice for my sake. Nor for yours." She sweeps past him and out of the room, a velvet shadow, an enigma. Her nightly vigil is not over. One boy's safety cannot soothe the agony in her heart, the restlessness that keeps her from peace.

No one sees but the moon and stars, and they do not tell tales, how the father smiles and shakes his head when she is gone. He will not be the one to warn his boy of the queen. He knows better. The child will continue to trust the queen, and the father as well. There are those who would say they are fools for it. But no, not fools. They are outlaws, and it is in their blood to defy conventions when it seems right.

The queen watches the stars until exhaustion drags her to oblivion, where she can forget all that's lost to her and all that she took upon herself in the name of evil. Yet perhaps, even though no one can see or would believe it, tonight's sleep is a touch more peaceful than it has been in almost a lifetime. It is said that to be believed in, to be trusted, is a powerful weapon against despair. It is said, and maybe one day the queen will know it to be true.


End file.
